A fierce stab of desire pierced Niall at the memory of their violent coupling a short while ago. They’d mated like animals, and yet she had craved it as much as he, responding to him measure for measure.
Her passion had shaken him to the core. He’d experienced an explosion of desire he hadn’t felt in years, perhaps not ever.
Niall’s frown deepened as he raised himself up on one elbow. It was not, however, merely the carnal gratification he found with Sabrina that attracted him. She had insinuated herself into his life against his will. He found himself craving her company. He cherished the closeness and companionship he’d discovered with her. He admired the way she’d stubbornly championed her clan and pressed for peace. Jealousy pricked at Niall again, because all that fire was for her clan, and not for him.
His eyes darkened as he watched her sleep. How had his plan gone so awry? In turning a prickly mouse into a woman he desired, he had given Sabrina too much power over him. She was like a fever in his blood. Fascination had turned to obsession—and something even more primal. The nameless emotion knotted in his gut, as intense and dangerous as a double-edged sword.
He pushed it away, scowling.
Bloody saints, he didn’t like feeling this way…so threatened, so vulnerable. He didn’t like this desperate feeling of need. He was no callow youth to be carried away by passion, letting lust rule his head.
Faith, but he needed to rid himself of this dangerous madness before he made an even greater fool of himself.
What he needed was another woman. Another lover. He needed to sate himself with physical pleasure in someone else’s arms, to make him forget his craving for Sabrina, to get her out of his blood.
He needed to purge himself of his incomprehensible feelings for her, to prove to himself that she had no consuming hold over him.
Eve Graham came to mind. His former mistress would cure him of this strange malady, Niall was certain. She would cool his fever and help him conquer the obsessive feelings of jealousy and possessiveness that had begun to haunt him of late.
Perhaps then he would be able to control the insatiable hunger his own wife roused in him.
Chapter
Fourteen
They didn’t speak of their fierce quarrel beside the loch or of Sabrina’s interrupted liaison with Keith Buchanan, yet a dark tension remained between them, as did the perplexing question regarding the cattle raids.
Too incensed to let the matter drop simply because her domineering husband commanded it, Sabrina pondered discussing the puzzle with her grandfather. However, when she paid an unexpected visit to Banesk the following morning, she received a greater shock than she bargained for.
A storm had blustered through the Highlands during the night, leaving a gray mist hanging low over the heathered hills. Rab bounded happily beside his mistress’s horse…until they neared Clan Duncan’s family seat, when his ears pricked forward nervously. It was several moments more before Sabrina recognized the clash of steel—swordplay, she had no doubt.
Fearing an assault on her grandfather’s castle, she set her spurs to her mount and raced forward, her heart lurching. She slowed only when she came to a clearing. Through the swirling gray mist she could detect two combatants. One of them she recognized as Liam Duncan.
The other, to her vast startlement, was her elderly grandfather.
“Aha!” Angus exclaimed heartily as he parried a wicked thrust with a heavy blow of his own broadsword. “Ye’ll no’ harm me w’ that wee jab. A bairn could do better.”
It took her a moment to realize they weren’t trying to murder each other, but were honing their battle skills on the practice field. Even so, it was sheer madness for an invalid to attempt such exertion.
“Merciful heaven, Grandfather!” Urging her horse forward, Sabrina drew up behind him. “What are you doing out of bed?”
He spun around to face her with the agility of a man half his age, though he was panting slightly. “Sabrina, lass…I wasna expecting ye.”
“Evidently not. You’ll kill yourself with such folly.”
“Nay, I’m as hale as may be—” He broke off suddenly, looking somewhat guarded. “I’m well enough, lass. Dinna fash yerself.”
“You’re well?” She stared blankly in confusion. “A month ago you were on your deathbed.”
His bushy white brows drew together warily. “Ah…” He cleared his throat. “In truth, I was ill for a time. The ague in ma chest gave me fits. But I’ve recovered.”
Her breath checked sharply. “That was what ailed you? An ague? You said your heart was failing you.”
Angus had the grace to look self-conscious. “Aye, ma heart was a bit weak, too. ’Twas a bad bout, but I’m well enough now.”
Sabrina felt herself grow white about the mouth. He was not at death’s door—and apparently never had been. “Your illness was all pretense?” she asked faintly.
“Not all. I was ill, in truth. Just no’ so ill as ye believed.”